Tempered By Time
by Neko Blah Blah
Summary: Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time it is regret for the things that we did not do that is inconsolable.Sidney J. Harris Oneshot DISCLAIMER: I do not own House M.D. and am not affiliated with the production in any way.


A/N: I'm writing this because I really can't get this out of my head.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

_ Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things that we did not do that is inconsolable.  
Sidney J. Harris_

Wilson sank deeper into his chair, staring blankly at the trinkets on his desk. He hadn't seen Leeann, his wife, in days and she had been calling his cell and pager all week. Her incessant calls drove him insane and pushed visiting her further and further down on his list of priorities. He had to make sure that House didn't kill himself, patients, or attack his co-workers again. He had patients, insurance claims, and test trial forms to fill out. He hadn't felt the need to go home yet; he didn't need another headache. He's spent the last few days at House's home, showering, brushing his teeth and hair, washing his clothing.

He has come to realize that at one point, Leeann had been different- more outgoing, more energetic, more everything. Lately, she has been petulant, whiny, impatient, and an all around irritation. Wilson sat up as his cell phone rang. He looked on the screen and it said "Leeann Cell Calling..." and he tossed the phone down and ignored the call. He heard the phone beep as she left a message for him. He shrugged, it was the ninth call of the week and he has had enough. He stood quickly, strode out of his office and into the parking lot. He quickly located his car, noting the snow and slippery roads, and headed home. He wondered how House was managing on his motorcycle in the snow, Wilson hoped that House wouldn't slip and fall on his way home.

After he turned onto the main road, away from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, he turned on the radio. A few moments of static later, the news came on. He listened and drove, taking care not to drive too quickly on the slick roads. He listened intermittently and caught clips of the news: "Today, in New Jersey, the governor has... new act... policy... voting takes place next week..." Wilson mentally noted what he heard and drove on. At a traffic light, Wilson began to check the messages on his phone.

The familiar electronic voice said, "There are fourteen message in your mailbox. To skip messages, press one. To delete messages, press seven. To save messages, press nine." The first few were from Leeann, he skipped those. The next was a telemarketer calling about a special offer, he deleted that one. Another two from his wife, one from a patient, his wife, yet again, a sponsor asking for a favor. Then he heard something on the news: "A woman was struck... slippery road... Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital... wife of a doctor..." Wilson wrinkled his brow in thought, thinking of all the married doctors in the hospital, and thinking of a few he barely knew, he shrugged and continued on his way home.

He noticed Leeann's car gone from the garage. "Odd." he thought, "Leeann never drives anywhere. She's been too busy moping about the house and sleeping." He shrugged and flicked on the lights in the living room and sat down. He reached for the remote and it wasn't where Leeann normally leaves it. In fact, it was missing. He sighed and looked around the room for it. After twenty minutes of searching, he gave up and turned on the TV by hand, in time to catch a live report on the news. A picture of Leeann flashed on the screen followed by the words "A woman was struck and killed tonight in front of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital tonight. Her husband,Dr. James Wilson, who works at this hospital, currently can not be reached."

His heart stopped for a brief moment, then continued whispering, "Leeann. Leeann. Leeann." He frantically searched for his phone and checked his messages one more time. The first was from her "Hey honey. Just calling to say hi. I haven't seen you all day, so call me back when you can! Okay, bye!" he immediately dialed nine. The next was from her "Hi honey, how're you? You didn't come home last night, so I just left some food on the table for you." That was a lie. He did go home, only to leave again- he dialed nine. Next message: "Hey, I guess you're busy today. Just call me back when you can. Bye honey, I love you,"- he dialed nine. And another: "James, are you coming home soon? I love you... G'bye." By now, Wilson was dialing nine by rote and saved every message that she left for him. As he listened to her voice, he fumbled for his pager and saved those messages as well. When he heard the last message, he nearly wept- she was pleading with him, "James, come home. I miss you. I love you. James, please come home. Please... I have something important to tell you. Please, James, come home."- he dialed nine.

Wilson grabbed his coat and ran out to the car. He rushed to the hospital, oblivious of the traffic and weather. He found an empty parking spot in the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's parking lot and quickly pulled in. He got out of the car and sprinted through the semi-filled lot, rushing to the desk, he said "My wife was just hit outside of this hospital, where is she?" The nurse looked at him gently and said "Down in the morgue, and her belongings are there also. We need you to identify the body and sign some papers. And Dr. Wilson? I'm sorry for your loss." He brushed her aside and ran to the morgue and the doors slammed open at his entrance.

The workers there looked at him with eyes full of pity and Wilson visibly cringed. He recovered and strode briskly to them saying, "I am Dr. James Wilson, my wife was just brought in. Do you have her belongings?" One of the younger employees silently handed him a crinkled piece of paper that had obviously been worried and folded repeatedly. "I think she was here to bring this to you, sir," the employee said quietly. Wilson opened it and scanned it and saw the words: Test for Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis: Positive. Date: January 31, 2007. Wilson felt the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat and he nearly laughed at the irony- he, the best oncologist in New Jersey, didn't notice that his wife had terminal cancer for months. But the cancer explained everything, the weight loss, lack of appetite, fatigue, irritability, everything, and he missed it all. He noticed that he was finally alone in the morgue with his barely recognizable wife.

He looked down at her blood splattered coat, her too pale features, and her too still features. He could see that the effects of her cancer and his heart wrenched. Wilson reached out a tentative hand to touch her cold cheek, and he winced at the sensation. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what she looked like before the accident and the cancer, on their wedding day- he remembered nothing. He did remember every moment he was annoyed at her, every moment he verbally berated her, every moment he heard her muffled tears from their bedroom. He remembered every time she looked down in shame, every time she had a hurt look in her eyes, every time she blinked back tears. He remembered when she hastily brushed back her tears, when she pretended she didn't mind that he was never home, when she lied through her teeth saying, "It's okay, I understand." Wilson gritted his teeth at the memories.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry, Leeann. I'm so sorry." Wilson stood and looked once more at her features and stroked her cheek tenderly. Turning to leave, he caught one last glimpse of her face and walked out of the morgue, letting the door shut behind him with a thudding finality.

The End

A/N: I dedicate this story to my friend Ryan Hwang who passed away on January 31, 2007, at the age of 14. Please, drive carefully, you never know what happens at the end of the day. R.I.P. Ryan. I'll miss you and remember you forever.


End file.
